


Songbook

by mangabreadroll



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Multi, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-16 16:51:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13058145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangabreadroll/pseuds/mangabreadroll
Summary: Every song has a story.A series of one-shots centered around, and about, each of the songs heard in the movie.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Being a musician myself, I thought it would be an interesting challenge to write these small stories around the music of Coco.
> 
> For the full reading experience, it is highly suggested that you listen to the song associated with the chapter before/during/after reading, or just imagine it playing.
> 
> This first one is an introduction. Enjoy.

_Remember Me_ was the song of the century.  
  
     The first time it was played to the public, at a riverside plaza a little further from the small town of Santa Cecilia, it lingered with those who listened.  
  
     It was the guitar they were drawn to - a lively phrase of notes that led the listener to take part in an imaginary dance, played by hands that had to know the instrument, like a close companion, to be able to craft a song from those wood and strings.  
  
     The voice, people praised, sonorous and charming, lilting ever so beautifully at the right verse in a way that sounded like he was singing just for you.  
  
     And the man, he loved his music as he loved to the people who came to hear him play. Onstage, Ernesto de la Cruz was confident, always leading the show, but with his audience, he was warm and welcoming. Having thoughtful conversations with those who wanted to be like him, happily demonstrating a few tunes on his guitar for those who asked, accepting an interview with a nod and a simple smile.  
  
     There were those who felt that there was an underlying boastfulness in his performances, or that his voice still had some way to go to reach full potential, but it couldn't be argued that he loved to play for the people, and these flaws were eventually covered up by the praise his supporters continued to give him.  
  
     One performance followed another, and the song surged into popularity. It was sung at concerts, at weddings. It was welcomed with open arms into homes, onto records, played through the radio with the streams of requests coming in from enthralled fans. It was the song no one seemed to get tired of listening to, no matter how many times it was played.  
  
     "What is the message behind _Remember Me_?"  
  
     "It is what it is," Ernesto replied with a formal smile, but with a hint of emotion in the slight downturn of his head. "It is a song about love. Love that conquers distance, and time. When a memory of someone is passed down, it is because you keep a piece of them in your heart, and it stays with you forever. It is a blessing, to be remembered."  
  
_Remember me, though I have to say goodbye. Remember me! Don't let it make you cry!_

     The orchestral version, with its soaring trumpets and backed by a soulful choir, engraved an even bigger, more intricate mark on the music scene. By then, Ernesto de la Cruz had already made waves with several more pieces with equally poetic writing. Millions flocked to his concerts, which moved out of town amphitheatres to reknowned concert halls. He became one of the lucky few to rise from countrywide recognition to international acclaim.  
  
     A decade and a little more later, Ernesto de la Cruz held his biggest concert yet. Extravagant setpieces, professional dancers and musicians, esteemed figures from all over the country and beyond invited. The singer had even swapped out his signature white suit and sombrero for a sky blue set, which Mexico lauded as yet another iconic look. Up until the act that was the song that won the hearts of the people, he played to a roaring crowd.  
  
     And then, at the end of the performance, the closing note, an oversight. An accident. Ernesto de la Cruz was crushed by falling bell, that before which had been a grand decorative prop harmlessly hanging above the stage. He was pronounced dead on the spot.  
  
     It was a tragic end to the singer's career, even if he did have just a few more years to go in his field of practice. Still, in the wake of the mourning and acceptance that followed, Ernesto de la Cruz would be remembered for a very long time.  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note that this chapter should be read with the knowledge that Ernesto's story is more than what is being told here.
> 
> I apologise in for not knowing a lot of Mexican terms, feel free to suggest where I could add some in to make this fic better! Comments appreciated, and thank you for reading :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A more familiar scene.

“Just let me hear it one more time.” The old man lay back in his hammock, a remnant of a smile appearing on his tired face. “You know the one.”

            The younger man took the guitar gently from the older man’s hands. Almost like he didn’t want to, but once he held it he didn’t resist its pull. “Anything for you, _amigo_.”

            He leaned against the hammock, letting the body of the instrument rest comfortably in the crook of his right arm. His fingers, strikingly long, moved to find their places on the fretboard, a calm falling across his face as he did. Miguel pulled a wooden stool from a corner, paying close attention. 

            The man was quiet for a few seconds. He pressed a finger down on a string and let it come away. A thoughtful note rose into the silence of the night air drifting into the shack. Then, his fingers began to brush against the strings, again and again, and a full melody came forth, sounding like a song coming from an old guitar during an older time, and the movement was so practiced, so familiar, that Miguel forgot how to breathe.

            The last note faded away for a brief moment, before the man began to sing.

            “ _Well, everyone knows Juanita.”_ Miguel’s eyes lit up. _He could sing_. His voice was a gentle tenor, clear and tender against the simple notes of his guitar. But most of all, as he sang on, he sounded so _human_ , a human voice coming from a (once) human man. It wasn’t like Ernesto’s singing, vibrant and bold, but you couldn’t say it was plain either. It would have been easier to believe, from everything he’d seen from this wandering spirit of a dead man, that Hector was some travelling mariachi who got chased off the stage often for playing out of tune, but he sang like he was telling a story.

            And his playing, Miguel observed, never taking his eyes off the man, those hands had been playing for years. It was like seeing his own fingers gracefully going down the strings, the result of feverish practicing of the chords he learned in secret at home. If he had become famous around Ernesto’s time, he would have been his contemporary, a friend from a different genre to trade stories and secrets of their art with, or a friendly rival. If he’d been famous then, Miguel would have listened to him, too.

            What a coincidence, he thought, to find someone like him and his great-great-grandfather, a man who _knew_ music, on his own journey to keep music for his own. But then… who was he? A talented street performer? A well-known guitarist? Who did he play for? Surely some people must have heard his songs. At least someone who missed the man who played music outside their door? Why was he alone? How did he end up here, forgotten?

            “ _And if I weren’t so ugly, she’d possibly give me a chance_.” The skeleton man finished his song.

            Miguel forgot how to clap. He stared at this silhouette of a musician with newfound admiration.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was kinda my reaction too the moment I found out this disheveled-looking skeleton could actually sing and play with such skill. If you look at it another way, it was the first time Miguel, unknowingly, heard his great-great-grandfather play. Imagine if he knew right there and then.
> 
> Once again, comments are very very much appreciated! And to those who are more knowledgeable in Mexican heritage, feel free to suggest me anything to add on, or correct. Thank you for reading!
> 
> EDIT: Changed end notes about Héctor's playing ability.


End file.
